It's all thanks to my father, who was brought up just outside Copenhagen when the city was still full of yellow tram and trailer sets with big, colour-coded, enamel route plaques and tickets were nearly the size of a playing-card.
He brought me a picture-book from our local library when I was about six, a time when I think only Glasgow and Blackpool were still running trams in the UK, and the author's enthusiasm must have made a deep impression.
As I grew older I realised how much I loved these solid, imposing, obedient vehicles but could not for the life of me work out why: until I happened to find that same book again, with a crash of déjà vu.

Still crazy after all these years, I have now ridden 'live' or museum trams in Belgium, France, Denmark, Austria, England, Scotland and the US.
My parents showed their flair and insight once again when they found me the perfect birthday present: a one-day tram-driving course at Crich, the extensive tram museum in Derbyshire.
As soon as I've found the account of that never-to-be-forgotten day, skulking on one or other hard disk, I shall append it here.
Until then, and even after, catching a tram will continue to make even the journey to work enjoyable.